Fangs and Thanks
by dogstar-ebony
Summary: What exactly happened when Ron and Hermione disappeared in Deathly Hallows to destroy the Horcrux? Missing moment DH, RR.


The moment Harry and Luna slipped through the little cupboard that hid the staircase, a sudden hush seemed to descend on the room, as though everyone's breath had been drawn in collective anticipation and now lay thickly upon them all. Ron slumped against the dark wood-panelled walls and, drawing his legs to his chest, rested his arms on his knees, staring straight ahead.

"Now what?" he said, half to himself. Hermione nestled carefully beside him.

"I don't know," she said honestly, and Ron looked at her, a faint smile ghosting his face.

"That's got to be the first time I've ever heard _you_ say that," he muttered, and she laughed weakly.

All around them the rest of Dumbledore's Army sat or stood in little huddled groups, some talking, others still and silent, but all wore the same pale, haunted look, as though this was their uniform. Some, like Neville, had clearly fared worse than others, though all of them bore their own constellation of bruises across their limbs, and for long moments all Ron could do was stare, because it was simply too unreal to believe. These were people he had lived alongside for four, five, six years, people he had laughed with and argued with, people who were younger than him, and all of them were scarred, all of them had fought more valiantly and fiercely than he, through intimidation, through torture.

_And I abandoned Harry and Hermione because I was hungry._ Shame made his cheeks burn. Pathetic, he thought.

"Ron?"

"What?"

Hermione's eyes were sad. "What happens if Harry finds the diadem? Even if he does manage to find it in time, we can't destroy it - we've lost the sword – and we've still got the cup to destroy, too."

"I know," he said, and fumbling for her hand he squeezed it carefully, before remembering himself and letting go. "I know," he said, even though right at that moment he knew that he didn't know a thing.

"But there's got to be another way of destroying something like that, there has to be some way of putting it beyond magical repair…" As he had known she would, Hermione was already puzzling the answer out, as she had so many times before. But never before had the answer been so crucial, and the pressure was beginning to show. Hermione liked to plan, to organise, and this kind of stress was not something she was adept at dealing with.

"I suppose there's Fiendfyre – cursed fire," she added, catching Ron's blank expression. "But it's so dangerous, I don't dare try it…"

Ron pressed his knuckles to his eyes, as if that would elicit an answer from him. Hermione was right – there _had_ to be another way. He sifted through the Horcruxes in his mind – the ring, the locket, the cup, the snake, the diadem, the diary….

"The diary!" he said suddenly, clarity flooding his senses. "That's it, Hermione!"

When she merely looked confused he continued, whispering fast, "Harry destroyed the diary before, didn't he, without a sword or anything, right? But he still stabbed it, just with a _Basilisk fang_, not a sword! That's what we've got to do - "

"But where are we going to find a Basilisk fang now, Ron?"

"Are you completely mad? Where'd you think the Basilisk Harry killed is now – I can't exactly see anyone burying it, can you?"

Hermione looked frightened. "But, Ron, we can't get into the Chamber of Secrets, we need Harry, he speaks Parseltongue -" she began, but at the fierce, set expression on Ron's face she faltered.

"We don't need Harry," he said calmly. "Now c'mon, we don't have much time."

And then he had grabbed her hand and leapt to his feet, pulling her through the throng of students across to the cupboard that hid the stairs.

"Where're you two going?" Neville cried suddenly, and Ron threw his answer over his shoulder as he helped Hermione through to the staircase.

"Bathroom," he said, and he closed the cupboard door. The moment he did so, he was plunged into darkness so absolute it was tangible. The staircase was long and winding; all around it were little torches that cast flickering shadows across the stone. The two of them clambered carefully up in silence until they reached a solid wall. Hermione put a hand out and pushed it gently; it seemed to melt away at her touch and she put her head cautiously out to see where they were.

"I don't believe it," she murmured.

"What? Where are we?" Ron's voice was threaded faintly with panic – what if they had come out by Snape's office or, worse, the Carrows?

"We're on the second floor!"

"What – how'd you know? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I recognise that statue of the mermaid – and if I remember rightly there should be a painting of some dogs on a hunt, and Moaning Myrtle's bathroom should be just next to it."

"Excellent," came Ron's whisper. "Anyone around?"

"No, but just to be safe – come here." Ron obeyed and Hermione waved her wand carefully above his head in a complicated little wiggle, muttering under her breath.

Immediately it felt as though a large egg had been cracked on his head; something seemed to be trickling down his face, all over his skin, and before he could ask what was happening, Hermione had performed the spell on herself; her skin seemed to ripple and fade to the colour of the thick grey stone behind her.

"When did you learn Disillusionment – never mind, there's no time, tell me later."

There was, mercifully, no one around – it seemed as though most people had either been evacuated or else were congregating in the Hall. Sure enough, as they stepped from the wall Ron could see clearly the mermaid statue Hermione had described, and when they reached the painting of the dogs, she slipped carefully through the door to the bathroom.

Inside, it was exactly as he had remembered it, even from five years ago. The sole difference was that Moaning Myrtle seemed to have evacuated it at last, which Ron was privately thankful for.

"Look for a tap with a little snake on it," he called to Hermione, and when she called back a few moments later he ran to kneel beside her, looking at the tiny etching.

"Now what, Ron?"

"Now, we open the Chamber."

"_How?_ You can't speak Parseltongue - "

"Yes, I can - "

"No, Ron, you can't! Harry's the only one who can apart from Y-You – Know – Who, we need Harry!"

She stopped speaking suddenly. Ron had opened his mouth, his features contorting oddly as he began to produce horrible, strangled noises, like a cat coughing up a particularly large furball. When nothing happened he tried once more, the gurgling noises in his throat spinning themselves out to become a distorted hissing, but still nothing happened.

Frustrated, Ron banged the flat of his hand against the porcelain of the sink and tried one last time, anger warping the shape of the sounds that fell from his mouth, making them harder, jagged, and with a sudden loud creak the sink moved aside to reveal the long tunnel through which he had last fallen five years ago.

Hermione simply stared at him. "How on earth did you do that?" she whispered, stunned.

"Harry did it to open the locket," Ron shrugged. "Now c'mon."

He lowered himself carefully into the large pipe, which suddenly seemed smaller. "Wait for a few minutes and then come in after me," he said, and then he pushed himself carefully through. The descent seemed less steep this time, and he supposed it was because he had grown considerably since the age of thirteen; his elbows kept knocking against the sides of the slimy tunnel with every twist and curve. He could hear Hermione sliding behind him; her little cries as she too hit the sides were almost comical. He landed with a thud on the Chamber floor, scrambling quickly to his feet so that Hermione would have a clear landing.

"Wow," she breathed, staring at the slimy walls. "I've never been down here. It's huge, isn't it?"

"Well, it kind of had to be, didn't it?" Ron said, half-smiling. "I mean, to keep a dirty great snake inside it it's got to be pretty big, hasn't it?"

"Oh, shut up," Hermione threw at him in mock-irritation. "Let's find the snake."

It transpired that they did not need to search particularly hard. The Chamber was large and winding, but still lit with torches despite its obvious abandonment – Ron supposed the flames were magical. They had been walking for only minutes when they saw ahead of them the enormous coiled skeleton of what had once been a fearsome snake. All the flesh and skin had fallen away over time, leaving the immense empty husk of a creature.

The floor was stained a dark brown that Ron only hoped was mud, and the great snake's mouth hung open like a hinge, its huge curved fangs like dirty yellow headstones in the torchlight. Ron moved to pluck one from its mouth but Hermione gave a dull shriek.

"No! What if you accidentally get hit with some poison when you pull it? Let me do it -"

"No way!" Ron cut in. "If anyone's pulling a tooth it's gonna be me, you're not doing it."

By now her Disillusionment Charm had almost worn off, and Hermione simply shot him an exasperated look, one eyebrow raised derisively. "There's more than one way to remove a tooth, Ron." She lifted her wand and slashed it in the air like a baton, crying loudly, "Sectumsempra!"

The largest fang fell to the stone floor with a clatter, before the rest of the great teeth fell with it, and Hermione stepped towards it. Stooping, she took a fistful of her robes and wrapped it around her hand before picking up the fang and carrying it back to Ron.

"Stab it," she said, offering the tooth to Ron. He shook his head.

"I think you should do it."

Hermione looked mildly shocked. "Me? Why?"

Ron wasn't entirely sure why, but a part of him knew that she should be the one to destroy the cup, just as Harry had known that it should be Ron who destroyed the locket. "I just think you should. You've not destroyed one yet, it's your turn. Just – just stab it quickly, as quick as you can, or it'll try to stop you."

"What will it do?" Hermione breathed, looking frightened. "Will it hurt me?"

"I don't know," Ron said truthfully, not looking at her. "Not physically, I don't think."

"Did the locket hurt you?"

There was a beat before Ron gave his answer. "Yes," he said, and he stared hard at his shoes, as though expecting to find all the answers written there.

"Well, what did it do? Ron, please, you have to tell me what it did!"

"It – it showed me things. Horrible things. It knows exactly how to hurt you and what'll hurt the most."

Hermione fell quiet, regarding him so carefully that Ron felt as though she could see right through to the other side of his heart. The trouble was, her face was set so thoughtfully that he could not tell whether she liked what she found written there. Finally, after an eternity of achingly-slow seconds had passed between them, she asked quietly, "What did it show you?"

Ron had been ready for this question. "You," he said simply, and then he pulled the cup from his jacket and set it on the stone floor beside her, an end to the conversation. "Stab it," he said.

Her fingers shaking slightly, Hermione gripped the fang and hesitated for just one moment before plunging it into the cup with more fury than Ron would have believed of her. An anguished scream rent the foetid air of the Chamber in two, a cry of agony wrenched from the bowels of some hellish creature. The cup seemed to fizz and melt, and when the last echoes of the scream had rippled from the stone walls, Ron lifted the cup carefully and stowed it in his jacket.

"We'd better get back, Hermione, Harry'll be needing us," he said, and he extended his hand to her to lift her from the floor. She didn't take it immediately, but pointed to the mound of yellow fangs behind them.

"What about those? Should we take some just in case?"

At Ron's nod she bent and scooped several into her arms, handing Ron one or two, and the two of them walked back to the mouth of the pipe the would lead them back to the bathroom, Ron trying to focus on the job ahead rather than the fact that Hermione's free hand was curled around his own.

"How do we get back up?" Hermione asked. "How did you get up last time?"

"Well, last time Dumbledore's phoenix pulled us up. But obviously it's not here this time, so I guess we'll have to - "

"A broomstick, Ron, that might work!"

Grudgingly releasing her hand, Ron pulled his wand out and cried, "_Accio broomstick!_" For long moments nothing happened – then a sudden whooshing sound seemed to erupt from the other end of the immense pipe, which soon revealed itself to be a long, rather weather-beaten, broomstick. Ron clambered on, pulling Hermione after him.

"Hold onto me," he said to her. "Don't let go."

"I won't," she said, muffled against his back. Ron kicked off and they were quickly enveloped once more in the stifling darkness, Hermione's grip tightening with every sharp curve and making Ron's heart hitch in his chest.

"Ron," Her voice was quiet, muffled.

"Yeah?"

"I never did thank you for coming back, did I?" she asked, and when she got no reply she simply squeezed him. "Thanks," she said, and Ron didn't say a word, because he thought that if he did he might say everything, and never be able to stop himself.

**Author's Note: This scene is probably pretty clear but just in case it isn't it's Deathly Hallows, a missing moment where Ron and Hermione destroy Hufflepuff's cup. I've enjoyed writing this enough that I may extend it to Ron and Hermione's relationship throughout Deathly Hallows in another story. Thoughts, comments, all gratefully received. Thanks!**

**Dogstar-ebony**


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